The Cask of Amontillado: Of Wine and Old Hags
by thecoldforest
Summary: This is basically a continuation that I wrote from The Cask of Amontillado by Edgar Allan Poe.


**(A/N)**

**Hey, people, how are you tonight? Good? Okay then.**

**So, we were reading The Cask of Amontillado in English class and I got bored and this is what turned up, several hours later...gosh, it sounds like i just gave birth or something=.="**

**Anyway****, this starts off as Montresor is leaving Fortunato sealed behind a wall...Not as good as Poe, but, hey, it was fun.**

**Please, enjoy~!**

* * *

The climb up those narrow stairs from the damp depths of the crypt was a slow one and, numerous times, I paused for a span of several moments, whose time seemed to be lengthened by the silence. I was not tired, though my previous labor had rendered me physically exhausted and sore, and did not pause for the sake of catching my breath, which came slowly at a normal pace. I paused, those several times, and listened to the extensive silence that seemed to only be filled by the rhythmic beating of my own heart. No tortured scream nor sorrowful moan followed me up those stairs, much to my own disappointment, but I digress as the drunkard's screams did no one any good except to sate my pride, swollen and bursting at the seams.

As I neared the top of the stairs, I thought to myself, _Nothing can ruin this. _But, in the deepest parts of my mind, I could feel them there, those dark thoughts that lurked in the shadows. Doubts, I knew, but did not care for them, and left them curled in the blackness to rot.

* * *

Clad in white and gold, I rejoined the festivities that were still taking place, despite the early hour. And, also despite the early hour with dawn at the approach, many were still about, laughing and singing, drunkenly throwing themselves against each other in the midst of the merriment. How oblivious they were, completely ignorant of the demons that hunted in the night, dressed in black and armed with tempting words, ready to steal the souls of the arrogant and the wanderer's.

Such is the story of my dear friend, Fortunato.

Clad in white and gold, I laughed and drank with the merry makers, pitying them, lifting a silent toast once to my lonely friend in the cold, dark depths before drinking down the entire container's worth of wine, the deep red liquid taking its familiar burning path down my throat.

It was then that the Lady Fortunato crossed my gaze, looking rather drunk herself as she swayed in her step, looking mighty cross. I watch her for a moment before, a pleasant smile growing upon my features, I approached her.

"Why, good evening, Lady Fortunato," I said, making the woman jump as she turned to face me. "What a pleasant surprise to find you here."

"And you, sir." She replies, disgust dripping from her voice as she looks upon me as she holds her hand out. Not allowing the smile to slip from my face, I plant a quick kiss on her fat, sausage like fingers, resisting the urge to gag at the horrid stench that rose from her skin.

I might speak for the both of us when I say it was a relief when she pulled her hand away with such speed and force, one might think that I was a nest of rats inside a human coat.

"Why, where is your husband, leaving such a fair lady by herself at this time of night?" I ask. "You might get snatched away and never be seen again."

"Such pretty words, sir, and your worry." She says then, quite suddenly, lets out a loud belch that stank of meat and of wine. She covers her mouth quickly, seemingly embarrassed. "I am currently on the search for him."

"Pretty words befitting a pretty lady." I say.

"You jest." Her words are partnered with an annoyed, borderline hateful glare.

"I would dare not. Not about such a fine woman." This is a lie. I do jest. I laugh in the hag's face, showering her with complements that are untrue. This woman who stood before me was neither fine nor fair, her colorless hair pulled back into a tight knot only showed off her tiny eyes and enhanced the largeness of her already elephantine proboscis, the red blotches on her too white skin doing little for her either. Regardless, I still keep my smile as I ask, "Might I be of some help?"

"Excuse me?"

"In the search for your husband" I clarify

"No, that will not be necessary." She says quickly. "I'm sure he is lying, drunk, in the gutter somewhere, his pockets picked clean." And, in a much quieter voice, she mumbles, "Serves him right, too."

For a moment, I pity the man named Fortunato, and wonder what he saw in this bitter, ugly woman.

My smile widening slightly, I nod and bow lowly and with a flourish. "Then, my dear Lady Fortunato, I wish you a good night."

She gives me one more look of disgust before turning on her heel and nearly stomping away, still swaying slightly. I wait until she was out of sight before dropping my smile. How I hated that woman.

* * *

I met Lady Fortunato again, several days later, as I strolled along by myself down a relatively crowded street. I had no real reason to be there, though it was commonly known, or, at the very least, believed, that I was aiding with the search for Fortunato. It seemed that my friend had been quite loved indeed, as quite a group had gathered, besides me, to find the man.

Or maybe, if all those in that group were honest, it wasn't the man that was missed, filling them all with the desire to find him, but it was the large sum that had been offered to those that found dear Fortunato, courtesy of his Lady herself.

In that street, I inched along in a daze, pushing past people who went this way and that, trying to pass others as they each went their own ways. It was quite a common thing, now day, for me to do such a thing. I've had nothing to occupy my time, as of late, despite the dull work that was required of me. The concept of aiding with the search for Fortunato, which had once been the highlight of my day, was quickly becoming a tiresome and dull task. Once I had found myself wondering whether or not I should uncover my dear friend's now surely dead shell from the crypt where he slept and dump it in an alley somewhere for someone to find, just to save me from this now pointless and wearisome excursion.

It was as I passed a young girl selling bread, fresh baked she called out, when I met the hag of the late Fortunato again. I'd be lying if I said that she pounced upon me like a cat would to a mouse if it was not being lazy, because it was not me she pounced upon, face twisted in some grotesque mask of near insanity. I'm not sure if this was an intentional thing, if it was just a mistake, or if she was really that much of a nitwit that she could not tell the difference between one man and another. It was a saddening sight to see the man fall to the ground, the Lady on top of him, yet it was also quite amusing.

_My dear friend, look upon your wife now._

Before anyone could notice, I morphed my features into an expression of concern and quickly aided the Lady back into a standing, upright position.

"Lady Fortunato."

As I spoke, she seemed to realize her mistake, and ripped herself from my grasp, turning to face me with eyes filled with the flame of a barely contained rage. The man, who she originally pounced upon, got up quite quickly as well, brushing off his behind before hastily making his departure to whatever business he had to attend to.

I envied that man.

"You!" the hag screeched out. "You know of my husband, you know!" She points an accusatory finger at me, trembling.

I furrow my brow in mock confusion. "I know what of your husband, my lady?"

"You know of him! You were with him that night, that night at the carnival!" Her screeches turned to pathetic, maniacal wails. "You were seen with my husband, dressed in black, cloaked in darkness like a demon. You were witnessed!"

At this, I cannot help but sigh. I was seen. "My lady, I will not deny that I was, indeed, with your husband that night, nor will I deny having been dressed in black before my encounter with you, later on." I spoke calmly and clearly, with a practiced pace. "However, I have a very good explanation as to why I changed my dress. The witness to my so called crimes is wrong, I assure you."

"You see, I met with your husband as I was on my way from the good man, Luchesi , who told me of the grave mistake I had made. As it seems, the wine I had bought shortly before was not as I had assumed it was. Your husband, the good Fortunato, comforted me in my depression. However, an unfortunate occurrence occurred that forced me to take a short leave to freshen up and change my attire from what it was to what it had been when I met you. I had left Forunato, I take the blame for that, but I do not know of his current situation."

"You lie!" She insisted, her face turning red. She is right, I am, but she has no proof of what occurred.

Neither did I.

"My lady, I assure you, I have no knowledge about you husband's whereabouts nor any inclination to keep such information from you if I did. Your husband was kind to me, always, and I want him found just as much as you do."

"No, fair lady, please, come with me. You are obviously quite distraught and worried to exhaustion. I will take you home." I keep my voice gentle as I hold out a hand to her. She looks at it as if I just offered like I offered a handful of mud.

* * *

Several years have passed since then. Fortunato, as expected, was never found. The Lady Fortunato died shortly after our encounter in the street, quite tragically. I went to their funeral, as by that time it had been decided that my friend was, indeed, dead. I left earlier than all the rest though, leaving only one thing to make that I was ever there. A single, unopened bottle of wine, the best in my stores. It was the least I could offer. May they enjoy it. Several years have passed since then. Fortunato, as expected, was never found. The Lady Fortunato died shortly after our encounter in the street, quite tragically. I went to their funeral, as by that time it had been decided that my friend was, indeed, dead. I left earlier than all the rest though, leaving only one thing to make that I was ever there. A single, unopened bottle of wine, the best in my stores. It was the least I could offer. May they enjoy it.

* * *

**(A/N)**

**Montresor sounds British, doesn't he? Well, i suppose he would if the only thing running through my head at the time was William Herondale's horrid yet very amusing poetry. Gosh, I love Will, I really do^.^**

**Sorry if this isn't very good...Poe is amazing and I haven't written anything in first person POV in forever...Gomen nasai OTL**

**Until next time**

**~tcf**


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